


Dean Winchester, Cocksucker at Rest

by alittleduck



Series: i projected onto dean winchester when i was twelve years old and now im making it your problem [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coming Out, Homophobia, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:41:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28580691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alittleduck/pseuds/alittleduck
Summary: The worst part of dying and going to heaven at the tender of age forty-one only a week after defeating the one and only God -- outside of dying and going to heaven at the tender age of forty-one only a week after defeating the one and only God -- was that now that Dean had eternity with Cas in his house and his dad up the road, Dean was going to have to have a conversation he’d dedicated the majority of his teens and young adulthood to avoiding. Dean was going to -- Sam, no one needs that many flags -- have to -- Sam, put the decorative soaps away, seriously -- come out.Needless to say, it does not go over well.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: i projected onto dean winchester when i was twelve years old and now im making it your problem [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2058270
Comments: 163
Kudos: 1240





	Dean Winchester, Cocksucker at Rest

“So.” 

“So.” Dean repeated. 

“ _So_ , are you gonna tell dad?” Sam asked. 

“Tell dad what?” Dean grunted. 

“Tell dad about -- you know!” Sam pinwheeled his arms.

Dean grabbed at Sam’s arms trying to pull them back down. “Stop that,” he muttered. 

“Dean!” Sam squawked, pulling his arms free. He paused and scrunched his face up at Dean. “Tell me you aren’t,” he said. Dean had no idea what he was talking about. “Tell me you aren’t going to do that to Cas!” 

“Do what?” Dean asked. Sam wasn’t fooled. 

Sam gave Dean the Judgement Face of Judgement. It was also known as the face Sam made when Dean came back to the motel room at two or three in the morning or whenever Dean ate more than three cheeseburgers in one go which, whatever Sam, a man doesn’t always know when his next opportunity to chow down would be. “Dean,” Sam said in a tone that made Dean want to punch his face. “I want to support you. But it’s not fair to Cas.” 

“What does Cas have to do with anything?” Dean asked. Oh, great. Now Sam was giving him the Disappointed Look of Disappointment. That was even lower than the Judgement Face of Judgement. It was the look he got when he said he didn’t like dogs which was _actually a normal opinion, Godamnit Sam_. 

“I can’t believe you, Dean. I really can’t.” 

“Bitch,” Dean said. 

Sam did not say jerk. Sam shook his head and said, “You know, Castiel is my best friend too, okay? And he deserves a lot better than this. I want you to think about that.” 

And then he left, leaving Dean even more confused than before because what? Dean was Cas’ best friend, not Sam! When was the last time Sam double glazed Cas’ windows just because he noticed that Cas had started wearing two layers of socks and a sweater before bed? When was the last time Sam made Cas three different grilled cheeses because he tended to forget about them while he was reading and the texture of cheese once it went cold upset him and, really Cas, Dean didn’t mind? When was the last time Sam gave him a thank-you-for-dying-for-me-again-I’m-glad-you’re-alive-now-again-again blowie in the back seat of the Impala? 

The answer to that last one had better be a straight up ‘never’ or Dean would be having _words_ with his brother and he did not mean talking. He meant words as in a choice between the Colt or Sidney. Sidney was his favorite machete. Dean loved Sidney. Dean would love sinking Sidney into the neck of any asshole who tried to give his man shaped cosmic entity thank-you-for-dying-for-me-again-I’m-glad-you’re-alive-now-again-again blowies. _Especially_ in the backseat of Baby.

Besides, Sam was clearly referring to their dinner with dad tonight. Though why the hell he thought their dinner -- that Cas was not only invited to but would be sitting as closely as non-humanely possible to Dean the entire night -- would be upsetting Cas, Dean had no idea. It wasn’t like Dean was hiding his relationship with Cas. Not really. He wasn’t planning on flaunting it but you know, he lived with the guy. Be hard to hide completely. 

So what the fuck did Sam think Cas was upset about? 

  
  


* * *

  
  


“So,” Dean told Cas later that afternoon, caramelizing the onions, “you’re happy, right?” 

Cas frowned at him. “Dean,” he said. “What is going on?” 

Dean pushed the onions around the pan a bit. “Just -- you’d tell me if you weren’t happy, right?” 

“Dean,” Cas said. “You make me more happy than anyone else ever has.” 

Dean’s face felt like it was on fire. He did his level best to ignore this fact. The spatula nearly slipped out his hand. “Heh.” He adjusted his grip -- firmly -- on the spatula. “Right. Um. You know.” 

“Yes, Dean.” Cas sounded amused. “I know.” 

“I can say it, you know.” 

“I know.” 

Dean pouted. “I feel like you don’t believe me.” 

Cas stepped closer to Dean pressing a kiss to the back of his head. “Yes,” he said. “I do.” 

Dean turned around into Castiel. “I do,” he said. “I love you. It’s just that you can’t take me by surprise like that.” 

“Oh?” Castiel gave Dean one of his favorite innocent faces. “I thought you liked it when I took you?” 

Dean groaned and let his head thud gently forward against Castiel’s. “You know, this blushing virgin thing gets a bit hard to believe with the amount of sex we’ve had.” 

“Mhm,” Cas agreed, not really listening and pushing Dean forward against the stove. Cas threaded his hands through Dean’s, gently extracting the spatula. 

“The onions --” Dean protested but Cas swallowed the rest of what he was going to say with a kiss. 

When Cas broke the kiss, they were both breathing heavily. Cas handed Dean back the spatula. 

“What?” Dean asked. 

“Like you said,” Cas said. “The onions.” 

Dean blinked blankly at Cas for a minute and then broke. “You asshole,” he laughed and nudged Cas back. Cas pulled Dean’s hips tight to his then let go. Dean gently prodded the onions. 

Cas stayed close, looking for Dean’s shoulder as he did it. “So,” Cas asked, “why is this happening right now?” 

“This?” 

“This,” Cas said gravely. “You emotional “snit-fit”. As Claire says. What is happening?” 

Dean sighed. “Sam’s worried or something. Said I wasn’t being fair to you.” 

Cas frowned. “Sam is being ridiculous,” he said. 

“That’s what I told him!” Dean agreed, loudly. “Still.” He pushed the onions around a bit. “Thought I’d ask. Just in case. You’d -- you’d tell me. If it wasn’t. If I wasn’t.” He cleared this throat. “Right?” 

“Of course Dean,” Cas agreed, frowning a little. Before Dean had the chance to do anything unbearably saccharine like try to smooth the wrinkly little line of concern across Cas’ forehead off, Jack bounded down the stairs. 

“Hey fruits!” He greeted them both, to Cas’ displeasure and Dean’s joy. 

“Going old school with the gay slurs today?” Dean asked. 

“I want to keep my options open,” Jack told him seriously while Cas shook his head fondly in the background. 

“I can’t imagine Kelly approves of this,” Cas told him. 

Jack thought about this. “No,” he said. “But Sam says that her opinion doesn’t count because she’s straight and voted against gay marriage.” 

“She did?” Dean looked flummoxed. “Dude,” he complained, nudging Cas to explain. 

“Ah,” Cas said. “On earth,” Cas started to say to Jack very carefully, “in America, they have a --” he paused, hesitating. “Government?” he asked Dean for confirmation. 

Dean snorted. “We got something, all right. A corrupt wheel of self-promotion might be a better word for it.” 

“Right,” Cas agreed, after a long pause. “And then the government has people that make choices. And govern, I suppose. And people vote for them? Dean, is that right?” 

“Cas,” Dean said, seriously, “we’re not discussing politics in my kitchen.” 

“But --” 

Dean thrust the spatula in Cas’ face to make his point. “Especially not when we’re not even on Earth.”

“Dean,” Cas complained, good naturedly, “I do not think I can explain politics. I do not think I know enough about politics. That’s what I was asking.” 

“Oh? You’re trying to look me in the eye and tell me that you don’t know anything about American politics and you don’t hold any political opinions of your own?” Dean asked and bit his lower lip. Because he was thinking. Not to get Castiel’s attention. Cas gave Dean a very unamused stare in response. “Which one of us became God and then started killing White Supremacists and Republicans again?” 

Cas doesn’t crumple at the reminder, which makes Dean want to pump his fist. They’ve been working on it -- guilt, and peace. That, and Cas’ dick game -- yeah, pretty strong already but, y’know, practice makes perfect and all. Dean smirked. 

“Dean.” 

“I’m just saying. I think you’re shifting yourself around to get out of an awkward political conversation with Jack and I’m telling you, you ain’t getting away with that in my kitchen.” 

“Dean,” Cas said again, but in his unbearably fond voice where he let the words just melt out his mouth. 

“You guys are going to burn the onions,” Jack complained. “Again.” 

Dean dragged his eyes away from Cas to glare at Jack. “These onions are going to be frigging perfect,” Dean told him. 

Jack did not look appropriately impressed and, worst of all, Cas stepped away. 

“Come on, Jack,” Cas told his son. “We should leave Dean be. He’s got a big meal to cook.” 

“I could help!” Jack volunteered eagerly. 

“You burn water,” Dean said. “You’re worse than your father. And your father is not good.” 

Cas turned his gaze balefully back to Dean. “I’m not that bad.” 

“You are that bad,” Dean insisted. “You’re worse, actually.” 

“Well,” Cas smirked, “I guess there is no reason for either of us to hang around here.” 

“You just wanted to get out of responsibility for tonight,” Dean accused. 

Cas didn’t bother hiding his smile. If he was a more expressive man shaped being, Dean was sure he’d be laughing at him. “Goodbye, Dean. We’ll be back at -- six?” 

“Dad and, uh, Mom should be getting here closer to six thirty but Sam’ll be here around then,” Dean confirmed and watched them leave. Apparently, to go look at some cool rocks Jack had found. 

* * *

Sam was not there around six. Sam was there around five fifteen and he was pacing back and forth. “I mean, Dean. I get it. You know, this is hard. I could never really understand it, and I don’t want to be, you know, stepping on your toes or anything --” 

“Sam,” Dean interrupted. “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

Sam started wringing his hands. “Dean,” he said, “you know exactly what I’m talking about.” 

“No, dude, I don’t,” Dean objected and then the doorbell rang. “Uh,” Dean turned to Sam. “Expecting company?” 

Cas entered a few minutes later, harried expression set deep into his face. “Sorry,” he said. “Jack likes to push the button.” 

Behind Cas, Jack beamed. “It’s good, right? I experimented with a lot of different doorbells when I was reconstructing heaven.” 

“You guys are back early,” Dean said. 

Cas sighed. “Jack thought it was our duty to help out.” 

Dean laughed. “Cas, I thought you left to escape the cooking.” 

“Yes.” Cas sounded deeply displeased. “I did.” Then he added morosely: “Jack said he thought you were joking and would appreciate the help.” He leaned closer and spoke a little more seriously. “I think in reality, it might be that he is nervous about tonight.”

“Right,” Dean said. 

“I think dinner will be fine, Dean.” He looked around the kitchen, disgruntled. “Now, what can Jack and I do that doesn’t involve cooking?” 

Dean laughed harder and gave Cas a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder. “Why don’t you get some things from the garden?” Cas nodded, relieved, and headed out back. “Vegetables too,” Dean called after him. “You can’t make a meal with just herbs and flowers, Cas.” Worryingly, Cas does not respond. 

“You remember I’m a vegetarian, right?” Sam asked.

Dean had forgotten about Sam. “Why?” 

“Dean!” 

“No, seriously, dude. This is heaven. What, you concerned about the environment? We’re dead. This is as ethical as it’s going to get --” 

Sam pulled himself up primly. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” he said. 

“Whatever, dork. Yes, we got your black bean burgers.” 

If anything, this only stiffened Sam up further. “Thank you,” he puffed out carefully. “I appreciate how considerate you’re being. Of... _my_ needs.”

Dean and Jack stared at Sam blankly. 

“Right!” Sam jumped up. “I can take a hint. You aren’t -- we aren’t going to fix this tonight,” he muttered to himself. “I’ll -- go help Cas in the garden.” 

“Hey!” Dean called back, “at least set the table or something.” 

Sam ignored him, which made Dean smile fondly. He turned to Jack. “Alright,” he said. “Looks like it’s just you and me, kid.” 

Jack smiled widely. “Cool,” he said. Dean ruffed his hair and passed him the big knife, plastic cutting board and seventeen potatoes. 

He let out a low whistle, looking at all the potatoes. “Good thing you came back. Looks like we’ve got work to do.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Dinner prep was dinner prep. Dean was feeling completely normal about it. 

Dean had been in heaven with Cas for less than a second and also nearly five years at the same time without seeing his mother or his father. So. Dean had been starting to think -- maybe -- that it was time. They were right up the road. Thus: dinner. He didn’t understand what had kept stopping him before. Or them, he supposed. Though, for them, it could’ve been one second between them arriving in Heaven and Dean suggesting dinner. Dean wasn’t entirely clear on how time worked in Heaven, despite having forced Sam to talk it through with him eight or nine times now. 

Sam had started obnoxiously swerving out of his way when they ran into each other in the supermarket. Or down the street. Which was a dick move first of all and second of all, Dean could take a hint. 

He stopped trying to talk about the time travel implications of Heaven with Sam. But Dean couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

Whenever he thought about it too long, he’d remember the Douglas Adams bit on time travel that really put the nail on the head. Namely, that the biggest problem with time travel wasn’t accidentally becoming your own father or mother (that was nothing any broad minded and well adjusted family couldn’t cope with), but rather grammar. 

Privately, Dean thought his particular problems with time travel would lie closer to the family issues problem then grammar -- no one, bar Sam during a particularly sarcastic period in his early teens, had ever used the words broad-minded or well adjusted to describe Dean’s family -- but Douglas Adams disagreed. No, he insisted: Grammar. How to describe something that was about to have happened to you in the past before you jump forward -- say, five years -- to avoid it. Proper tense usage becomes even more complicated depending on where, or, rather, from when, you were speaking: your present time, a further future time, or a further past time. Or if you were the first born nebulously non-heterosexual son of a complicated but almost definitely at least mildly homophobic semi-present father you had spent the five years avoiding while living and raising a child with a man shaped entity. Being that person would certainly complicate things, though maybe not grammatically. 

Douglas Adams hadn’t specified that last part, but Dean felt reasonably certain in his own not inconsiderable experiences. 

So where Douglas Adams believed the greatest problem of time travel to be grammar, _Dean’s_ biggest problem with time travel was how angry John would be and why. There was no doubt in Dean’s mind that John would be angry. He couldn’t imagine John not angry. The question rested with whether John would be mad at him or showing up or mad at him for staying away. Dean was sure that the sooner he could figure out why John was going to be angry, the sooner he could get to work figuring out how to redirect John’s anger.

It was, as Cas liked to say until _Dean_ started avoiding _him_ in Supermarkets, an incredibly “fucked” way of thinking about things, Dean. You should really talk to Sam about this Dean. Dean. Dean! Dean, we live together, avoiding me won’t work nearly as well for you as it did for Sam -- and so on. Unfortunately, Cas was correct about the last point and _none of the rest so stop bugging me about it Sammy_.

Right now, Dean was leaning more towards the ‘mad for not showing’ option, but maybe, if time operated differently for John than it did for Dean, he wouldn’t be mad at all. 

“Oh,” Jack said. “That’s a good idea.” 

“What?” Dean said. 

“It’s a good idea to have time operate differently.” Jack said. 

“Jack,” Dean complained, only somewhat irked. “We’ve talked about this. Respond to words. Not thoughts.” 

“I’m sorry,” Jack told him earnestly. “You’re very loud sometimes. I try really hard, though.” 

“I know, kid.” Dean smiled down at him. 

“And anyway,” Jack said excitedly. “It’s a really good idea. A smart idea.” 

Dean mumbled through a few false starts and then settled on: “Awesome. So, you, uh, gonna do it?” 

“I’ve done it.” Jack frowned. “I will always have been done it.” He frowned harder. “I mean, I will have always had done it. It will have been always done. Done always? It will have had be been done?” 

“So it’s done?” Dean interrupted. 

“And has always been,” Jack added, and then frowned, again, opening his mouth to find a better way of saying it. 

Okay, maybe Douglas Adams had been right all along. Maybe grammar really was the biggest problem with time travel. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


John and Mary, unlike Jack, Cas and Sam, were not early. They were right on time and standing an awkward, forced distance apart and not looking at each other. So, right off the bat, Dean knew things were off to a great start. 

“Mom. Dad.” He gave both of them a nod. Mary moved as if she was considering giving him some kind of one armed hug before changing her mind. 

“Dean,” his dad grunted, muscling past the doorway. 

“You should take off your shoes,” Jack piped up, dodging Dean’s attempt to elbow him. 

“What’s this kid talking about?” his dad asked, while Mary started subtly toing off her shoes. 

“Uh, nothing.” Dean said. “Don’t worry about it.” 

Jack turned to Dean, confused. “Dean?” he asked. “I thought you didn’t like shoes in the house.”

“Right,” Dean said awkwardly, and rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s mostly ‘cause your dad spends half the goddamn morning every day in the garden and it tracks dirt through --” Dean seemed to realize that everyone was looking at him and that John’s eyebrow was creeping further and further up his forehead and cut himself off with a cough. “Anyway,” he waved a hand, “it doesn’t matter. Cas and Sam should be in from the garden soon.”

“Honey, it’s not a big deal. We can take off our shoes.” 

John snorted. “I’m not taking off my shoes like some kind of new age hippie.” 

“John,” Mary hissed. 

John looked back, unrepentent. 

“No, uh, really.” Dean moved towards them, placatingly. “It doesn’t matter.” 

“See, Mary,” John said. “He says it doesn’t matter.” 

Mary rolled her eyes but left her shoes off and walked into the dinning room. John kept his shoes on but followed Mary into the dinning room. 

“I’m sorry!” Jack whispered to Dean very loudly. “I didn’t know --” 

Dean put a hand on Jack’s shoulder and gave him a tight smile. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. 

“I thought you didn’t like shoes in the house,” Jack echoed. 

Dean didn’t know what to say. He didn’t like shoes in the house. He patted Jack’s shoulder again and repeated not to worry about it. Jack’s mouth was an unsure line, but it stayed closed. That would have to do for now. 

Dean looked at his reflection in the mirror, took a deep breath and joined his parents in the dining room. 

The table wasn’t set. “Uh,” Dean said. “Jack, would you mind --” 

“Setting the table!” Jack perked up. “Of course, Dean. I like setting the table. It’s very satisfying to put the plates next to the folded napkins.” 

Something inside Dean’s chest warmed and he chuckled. “Like father, like son,” he said, fondly. At Jack’s head tilt, he clarified: “Cas used to say the exact same thing. Of course, with him, I think it was just that he didn’t want to be involved with the cooking.” 

John interrupted him. “And this Cas fellow. He’s your father.” Few things with John are questions and only when John already knew the answer he wanted you to give.

“It’s complicated,” Mary said at the same time Jack said, “yes.” 

Dean cleared his throat. “He’s Cas’ son in every way that matters,” Dean said. 

“Biologically?” John asked and thankfully, that’s when Sam and Cas came in from the garden. 

“Dean,” Cas said, cheeks rosy from the wind outside. “The cardamom is coming through much better than last year.” 

The tips of Dean’s ears went red. “That’s great, Cas.” 

“You should take off your shoes, dad,” Sam said. “Dean doesn’t like getting dirt in the house.” 

“Oh for crying out loud --” John started. 

“I told you,” Mary hissed. “I told you to take off your shoes.” 

“No, really, it’s fine,” Dean struggled, valiantly, to gain back peace in the room. “Leave the shoes on, it doesn’t matter.” 

“Dean!” 

“Sammy,” Dean bit back, sharply. “Don’t. Okay?”

Sam held Dean’s gaze for a second, then broke it. “Don’t call me Sammy,” he said. 

Dean forced himself to relax. “Right,” he said. “Sorry.” 

John laughed obnoxiously. “Can’t help teasing your little brother there, can you Dean?” 

“No, sir,” Dean said and forced a smile. The room fell awkwardly silent after that, as the five of them stood around the dining room table avoiding eye contact while Jack finished setting the table. 

“I made burgers,” Dean said suddenly. “With salad. There’s some onions and stuff for the burgers in the kitchen. Vegetarian burger for Sam.” 

“You cooked?” John asked. 

“Cas and Sam are pretty useless in the kitchen,” Dean said, instead of answering. 

John grunted. Dean avoided Sam’s gaze. 

“I’m pretty useless in the kitchen too,” Mary said, which made Dean laugh. 

“Yeah, I remember,” he said. 

Sam started laughing too. “Oh, man,” he said. “When you tried to make us the -- what did you call it, Dean?” 

“The Winchester Surprise.” 

“Yeah, the Winchester Surprise --” 

“Well, Dean kept talking about it --” 

“-- and it tasted terrible. I mean, beyond the pale. Just awful,” Sam finished. 

“I was four!” Dean objected, smiling. “I can’t be held responsible for my memories when I was four.” 

“I kind of liked it,” Jack said. 

“Of course you did,” Sam told him, “you’re even more of a garbage disposal than Dean is.” 

“Hey,” Dean objected. 

“Don’t hey me,” Sam said. “You’re lucky you didn’t die of cholesterol poisoning.” Then he winced because it might have been five years but five years still wasn’t enough time to get over your own death-on-earth. 

Dean, however, didn’t seem bothered. Cas looked a little bothered. But Cas usually looked a little bothered. Sam relaxed. 

“How did you --” 

“Burgers are in the kitchen,” Dean said, loudly, before John could finish. “Along with everything else. Kind of a help yourself situation.” 

“Right, son,” John said and grabbed the first plate. Dean waited from everyone else to line up before grabbing his plate. A couple of awkward bumps and a few of painful bruises aside, Dean was starting to feel like this whole family dinner might work out after all. 

* * *

After everyone had grabbed food and gathered around the table, it turned out that no one had any idea what to say to each other. 

Cas seemed preoccupied with glaring at John instead of eating; John seemed preoccupied with eating instead of looking at anyone else seated at the table. 

Dean cleared his throat. “Great job with the table, Jack.” 

“Thanks, Dean!” 

“You know,” John said, with a bit of a laugh, through a mouthful of burger, “it’s kind of amazing that we get this.” 

Dean blinked back something that started to sting in the back of his eyes and agreed. “Yeah,” he said. “After everything.” 

Sam sat stiffly in front of his bean burger. 

“You gonna eat that?” Dean asked his brother. “Cause Cas went and got it specifically for you --” 

Sam scoffed. “You mean, you forgot to get veggie burgers for me and so you made Cas go back to the store and get them?” 

Dean grinned through a mouthful of food at Sam. “I keep telling you, eating meat is ethical up here.” 

“And I keep telling you,” Sam said without an ounce of patience, “that it’s about the principle.” 

“What do you think Eileen is going to say about that when she gets up here?” 

“I think Eileen is going to respect my choices, Dean.” 

“Eileen?” John asked. 

“My wife,” Sam said, without looking at his father. 

“Nice,” John said. “Dean, you got a wife coming up one of these days?” 

Dean swallowed the bite of burger still in his mouth. “No, sir.” He said. “It’s like I told you: I got my family all right here.” Sam dropped his fork. 

John laughed. “There’s the downside to all that womanizing, right Dean?” 

“John,” Mary muttered and glared at her husband. “Shut up.” It was one of the few things she’d said so far. Honestly, outside of the conversation they’d had after dinner with Jesse and his husband on earth, Dean wasn’t sure how his mom felt about all this. And honestly, watching her try to reign John in was a bit like looking into a distorted, fun home mirror of himself, age seventeen. 

“What?” John continued, falsely gregarious. “Boy can take a bit of ribbing. Can’t you Dean?” 

Dean nodded. 

Satisfied, John turned his attention to Sam. “This wife of yours. What’s she like?” 

“Dad,” Sam started, mystified. “Did you even hear what Dean said?” He turned to Dean. “Dude,” he said. “I can’t believe you said that.” 

“Dean was just joking around,” John said, voice absolute and just starting to sound a little irritable. “He didn’t mean anything by it. Not everything is some sort of conspiracy.” 

“I wasn’t,” Dean said. 

“Dean --” Cas interjected, sounding pained. 

“I wasn’t joking,” Dean insisted. “I have a family.” 

“Son,” John said, and Dean knew he’d done or said something wrong then because John was looking regretful and upset and like he wasn’t quite sure what to say. “A family’s a bit more than this,” is what John settled on after a minute and Dean was so shocked he couldn’t think of anything to say for almost a full minute. “I’m sorry if the way I raised you boys made you think different. That’s on me. But Dean, Christ. I mean, no wife? No kids?” 

“I have Cas,” Dean said, numbly. “And Jack.” 

John disregarded them with a wave of his hand. “No,” he said, “I don’t mean this best friend nonsense, or helping out with raising the child. I mean, a family. I’m sorry I didn’t do better Dean. Didn’t show you better. I know that’s on me.” 

And the thing is? The insane thing is? John really sounded like he was sorry. He sounded torn up and pained and regretful and he was really apologizing to Dean, saying everything Dean hadn’t even known he wanted to hear and it was all so stupid, so dizzyingly wrong. 

“Jack’s my son.” Dean licked his lips. “Sam and Cas’ too. He’s our son. And Cas is -- I love Cas.” 

“Dean --” 

“I’m in love with Cas,” Dean clarified, because at this point he didn’t have much of a choice. Calling Cas his wife was definitely something Dean would’ve been hearing about for centuries afterwards and besides, it was always better to be direct about this stuff. Face the consequences straight on. Heh. “Straight” on. 

“Stop fooling, boy,” John said. 

“I’m not,” Dean insisted. 

“Dad, it’s good,” Sam chimed in desperately. He put his hands on the table as if he was trying to reach them across to their father. “Dad, they’re really good. This is a good thing, see, you didn’t mess us up too badly because Dean did get a family, exactly like what you were talking about --” 

“That,” John spoke in a deceptively low voice, “is not anything like what I was talking about.” 

“It is,” Sam insisted. 

“Sam, stop.” 

Mary put her hand on top of Sam’s. “He’s right, John. I didn’t understand a lot of these things right away either, but I’ve gotten to know Cas. And Dean, even. This is good.”

“I’m not having some kind of cocksucker for a son,” John said, deadly still, looking directly at Dean. 

There was a ringing sort of silence in Dean’s ears which wasn’t fair because he knew this would happen, he told Sam this would happen, he wasn’t surprised that this happened -- 

Jack’s voice broke across Dean’s thoughts. It was small. It didn’t sound right coming from the most powerful being in the universe across a poorly repaired mahogany dinner table that looked like it was bought on sale at Lowe’s. “Oh,” Jack said. “I get it.” 

Horribly, John looked relieved. “See, Dean, even God here --” he started, and there was a horrible, swooping sensation in Dean’s gut even thought he knows that Jack is okay with this, that Jack --

Jack cut Dean’s thoughts off again. “No,” he said. “I get it, Sam. I understand why I shouldn’t say those things anymore. Why you and Cas tried to stop me from -- it’s not just hateful. It’s,” Jack frowned deeply, reaching around for the right word. He looked Sam in the eyes. ”Evil.” 

“Right,” Sam floundered. “That’s … good.” He tried to smile. It was a valiant effort but no one, not even Jack, could muster up anything back. The whole table was still static-noise silent. 

Slowly, John turned his head toward Sam. “What did you tell him?” 

“I told him that he shouldn’t call people slurs. That it’s wrong and hurtful.” Sam spoke proudly and clearly, before Dean could even try to say something, as if he was worried Dean wouldn’t be. As if he didn’t want Dean to need to be. As if he owed Dean -- something. Some sort of protection. As if it wasn’t Dean’s job to protect Sam from John, and to hide the worst of John from Sam. 

“I didn’t understand,” Jack said. “I laughed. We all --” 

And Jack looked so miserable, so guilty, so much like Cas, that Dean opened his mouth and found words there, before he could think about it or talk himself out of it. “No.” He cleared his voice. “Jack,” he said. “You’re fine. It’s different.” 

“But --” 

“You love me, right?” 

“Of course.” Jack was confused. “But I don’t want to hurt you, Dean.” 

Dean tried, desperately, to project his understanding directly into Jack’s mind. It didn’t work. His hands shook, fumbling with the napkin in his lap. He wet his lips. “Jack,’ he said, slowly, “you can say stuff that’s bad sometimes or hurtful sometimes ‘cause I know that’s not how you mean it. ‘S about the context, y’know. And the intent. You’re just trying to bond, right? And then it was real funny, ‘cause I knew it was breaking Sammy up inside but that he couldn’t say shit ‘cause he was so frigging guilty, right? And he was trying so hard to be supportive ‘cause he thought --” Dean sucked in a breath, looked at his dad in the eye, and finished his sentence, “cause he knew dad wasn’t.” 

He ignored Sam muttering, “you’re an asshole,” under his breath. 

“Yeah,” Jack agreed. 

“And if I’d’ve told you to knock it off, you would’ve right? And you’d never use those words against another person angrily, right?” 

Jack nodded. “So it’s about the intent?” 

Dean does not want to be having this conversation. He does not want to be having this conversation right now. He especially didn’t want to be having this conversation right here in front of everyone. Dean didn’t even think he was particularly well suited to this type of conversation. But Dean has a duty to Jack and if Dean can force a few words, make the kid feel a bit less shitty, hell. No skin off his back. 

“Right. Obviously, this is a, a difficult conversation to have. Good to have with,” he cleared his throat, licked his lips and made himself say it, “us cocksuckers. Heh.” No one else laughed. Okay, so that wasn’t the best joke he could’ve made. Dead on arrival. “But you’ve done nothing wrong, Jack.” Dean closed his eyes and racked his brain for anything else he could add. He couldn’t think of anything. “So,” He opened his eyes, turned to Sam, and passed the baton, grinning. “You wanna take it from here, Mr PFLAG?” 

Several voices broke out at once. 

“Dean, I hardly think --” 

“Now wait one goddamn minute --” honestly, Dean was shocked John had kept his mouth shut as long as he had. 

And Mary, putting a hand on her husband’s arm, chimed in. “John, maybe you should --” 

But Jack’s voice was the clearest. “PFLAG?” he asked. 

“Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays.” It was the first thing Cas had contributed to the conversation. Dean barely resisted plunging his head into his hands. “The world has progressed beyond your small minded and backwards views, Mr Winchester.” This was where Dean realized, with a sickening lurch and a very thoroughly out of a place rush of arousal, that Cas is very, very angry. 

“Cas, man,” he said, trying to forestall the argument. 

“Dean --” 

“It’s okay, Cas --” 

“There are many words for what is happening tonight, Dean, and okay is not one of them --” 

“You some kind of faggot also?” Was John’s contribution to the conversation. 

“Dad!” Dean snapped, automatically. “Can you just --” he waved his hands. “Keep it down for a second?” 

Of course, this didn’t work. “Dean, are you gonna let this man push you around like that? You gonna let this goddamn fruit talk to you this way? I mean, liking dick is one thing, but do you gotta be such a bitch?” 

Several things happened at once: Dean lunged in front of Cas, who had stood up so abruptly he sent the chair he was sitting on clattering down behind him, which was completely drowned out by Sam, who had taken the end of John’s little statement as a cue to start yelling at him while Mary moved to get between Sam and John. Mary’s mediation, for some reason, involved hurling down the napkin rings Dean had spent the past few weeks working on with Bobby, making Jack flinch at the same time as Dean. Jack had pulled his knees up to his chest and was sitting, wordless. 

“Cas,” Dean said, placatingly. 

“Dean, I do not like that man,” Cas stated baldly through gritted teeth. “He is not a good father and I will not stand and hear you insulted by him in our home.” 

“I --” Dean doesn’t know what to say. He felt tired. Which didn’t make sense. Because he knew it would go this way. He didn’t know why he did all this and expected it to go any other way than it just did. “This wasn’t how I wanted this to go,” Dean said, over Sam and John and Mary in the background. 

“I don’t give a fuck, Sam.” The anger in John’s voice, more familiar than just about any other sound from Dean’s childhood, broke through to Dean. He turned to face his family. “You think you’re so much better than me? Like I’m not the fucking reason you and Dean are even alive.” 

“John!” Mary was looking at John like she’d never seen him before. 

Sam scoffed loudly, ignoring Mary’s reprimand, and John brought a hand down on the table loudly enough to make Jack flinch a second time. “Cas is more of a reason we’re alive than you,” Sam insisted, turning to his brother for support. “Right, Dean?” 

“Uh,” Dean said. “What?” 

Cas slumped. Sam’s face shuttered. John’s sneer, already ugly, turned triumphant. “I died for Dean,” he said. “What the hell do you even do?” 

“Four times.” 

“What?” Everyone turned away from John and Dean to stare at Cas. 

“That’s the number of times I died for your son.” Cas tilted his head to the side. Dean stifled his snort. “That’s more than you, right?”

“I -- excuse me?” John looked around wildly. “You’re just going to let _him_ talk to me that way?” The question, angry and impatient, seemed to demand an answer from Dean, even as John himself refused to make eye contact. 

“No,” Dean said and Sam audibly inhaled, sharp and disappointed, through his nose. “That’s not -- that’s not right. I’m not going to let _you_ talk to him that way.” Dean pushed his chair back into its place, tucked nicely under the table, the chair squeaking loudly across the now-silent room. “Actually,” he said, “I, uh. I think we’re done here.”

“Boy --” 

Dean didn’t even look at his dad. His hands were shaking slightly, so he clenched them tightly around the back of the chair. “Sam,” his voice a barely controlled tremor, “do you want to be here?” Dean realized it was anger. He was feeling anger. 

“Um,” Sam said like Dean was insane, “Dean, what are you talking about?” 

Dean felt astonishingly lucid. “No, Sam, I’m completely one hundred percent serious. Do you want to be here? I mean seriously, be here? Talk to dad? _You_?” 

“Now, wait a minute, Dean,” John tried to interject but Dean didn’t move his gaze from his brother. 

“Dad, shut up,” Dean said and as if in a state of shock, John actually did. 

“I mean, he’s family --” Sam started, hesitantly, glancing around the room as if for cues. 

Dean scoffed loudly. “Not what you think I wanna hear, Sam. Sounds like what I’ve been saying, right?” he smiled. “Sounds like how it is, not a lot of how you feel about it. You really wanna be here? Sit down with dad,” he gestured over his shoulder at the man, “like it’s nothing?” 

“I --” Sam started. “No?” 

Unfortunately, that was when John Winchester found his words again. “Boys,” he began. “You’ve been talking your heads off long enough --” 

Dean snapped around. “Actually,” he said, and he could barely believe the words coming out of his mouth, “I think I was talking to Sammy. Cas? You wanna help out here?” 

The words coming out of John’s mouth stopped abruptly with a wave of Cas’ hand. He opened and closed his mouth furiously, then took a step aggressively forward. Cas, again, stopped him easily. 

Dean didn’t see that. He didn’t see Cas bear his teeth or Jack cross his arms or Mary step away from John. He didn’t see John sitting there, completely immobilized by his family. Dean saw Sam. Sammy. Standing in front of him. “Sammy?” He asked. “What are we doing here?” 

Sam slumped his shoulders. “I don’t know,” he said. 

“I thought this was something we needed to do.” 

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. 

“You’ve been bugging me this whole time, ‘cause you thought I was gonna go back and hide. You thought I was going to slam the closet door and lock Cas in there with me?” 

“Dean -- I -- I’m sorry. I did. And I shouldn’t have thought that --” 

“Why?” Dean asked. “What the hell have I ever done to make you think otherwise?” 

Sam clearly doesn’t know how to respond. 

“Sam,” Dean said. “It’s okay. I’m good. You know, I didn’t think I needed to say anything. ‘Cause the last time I saw dad, I told him I had a family. Thought that was enough. And it is. We’re enough of a family. You. Me. Cas’n’Jack. Eileen when she gets up here. Other people --” 

“Bobby,” Sam added, starting to smile. “Ellen, Kevin, Claire --” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean replied, smiling back. “You’re getting it. My family. Our family, Sam. I ain’t in the habit of hiding my family. And I ain’t in the habit of leaving them behind either. And you’re my brother, man. So I said what I gotta. I said it years ago. So now it’s your turn, baby brother. Sam, what the fuck are we doing here?” he repeated and this time Sam got it. 

“Leaving,” he said, starting to smile with Dean. “We’re leaving.” 

“Fuck yeah,” Dean said. “Jack, Cas? You guys coming?” 

“Of course, Dean,” Cas said, solemnly. Jack followed after Cas, holding tightly to Cas’ hand. 

“Then let’s go, cocksuckers,” Dean told them and then turned to face his dad for the first time since he’d started speaking. “Don’t fucking follow us ‘til you’re ready to apologize. Maybe not even then. And don’t be here when we get back.” He paused. He thought. He added: “You already got your shoes on. So. Shouldn’t take you long.” It wasn’t much but it said what it needed to. Dean wasn’t Sam. Or Cas, really. Didn’t have paragraphs ready to go or all that much to say to begin with. But it was nice when he got to say some of what he wanted to say and when it came out how he wanted. 

And it was even nicer when, after Dean Winchester left his parents in his own home, his family followed him out. 

  
  


* * *

“So, uh,” Dean asked, awkwardly, trying to avoid settling too comfortably into the wet spot, “you leave my dad like that? Voiceless?” Sam might kill him for having post-poorly-received-coming-out-relationship-affirming-sex in his guest room but also they were in Heaven and Dean’s son was God so. Lasting consequences weren’t so lasting. Plus, Sam kind of had to forgive him or else Dean would be able to call him homophobic and he wouldn’t even be able to cry into Eileen’s bosom because she wasn’t dead yet. 

Cas didn’t look at Dean. 

Dean started to let out a groan but couldn’t keep the disapproval up. “Babe,” he said, laughing. “You can’t leave him like that.” 

“Why not?” Cas asked, grumpily. “I don’t think John Winchester should be in Heaven, let alone allowed to speak here.” 

“Come on,” Dean cajoled. “Jack let him in for a reason. He’s a Righteous Man, Cas.” 

Cas looked Dean straight in the eyes. “John is here because Jack knows you loved your father. Not because of any action your father has taken to deserve it.” 

Dean’s chuckles trailed off and his eyes widened. “Oh.” 

Cas leaned in and kissed the corner of Dean’s mouth. Then the other corner. Then -- 

“Okay, okay,” Dean pulled Cas off laughing again. “Even in paradise, you’re going to need to give me more than thirty seconds and a depressing conversation about my father before I’m ready to go again.” 

“Dean, your reticence around certain aspects of sexual intercourse can be incredibly inconvenient.” 

“Horndog,” Dean called him, fondly. 

“Yes,” Cas agreed and bit Dean’s nipple. 

This time, Dean didn’t push Cas off. 

* * *

  
  


“But Cas,” Dean said, a number of rounds later that would have been anatomically impossible on earth, “seriously. You’ll fix him?” 

“No,” Cas said. 

Dean sat up in the bed. “You’re joking right?” 

Cas looked at Dean for a long moment and then said without any inflection. “Yes. Ha ha. I’m joking.” He got out of bed and headed for the shower, leaving Dean confused and stumbling behind him. 

“Cas? Cas? Cas!”

Cas didn’t respond. And honestly, Dean couldn’t find it in himself to mind. 

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> dean embracing his sexuality and standing up to his father just uhhh means a lot to me apparently -- please let me know what you guys thought!


End file.
